


Seized

by ardentaislinn



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, No Curse - AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where there was no curse. Princess Emma is on a diplomatic mission to a neighbouring kingdom when her ship is attacked by the notorious Captain Hook. Who will prevail? And how will she ever get home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/41953) by Anonymous. 



Emma looked out over the bow of the ship and let the fresh sea air wash over her. Her diplomatic mission to the neighbouring kingdom hadn’t been nearly as successful as she might have liked. Her parents would no doubt be disappointed. They’d spent the last 24 years raising her to be the perfect princess: tactful, firm but willing to compromise.

Sadly, Emma had also grown up to be fiercely independent, a little hot-headed, and unwilling to deal with people’s bullshit.

Hence, her inability to negotiate a peaceful truce with their neighbouring kingdom. Still, their neighbours hadn’t instantly declared war on them, so Emma supposed she can’t have messed up too badly.

A year ago, Emma had been grateful that her parents had recognised the restlessness that had been plaguing her and decided to give her the responsibility of protecting their kingdom from possible dangers. No doubt they thought it was a fairly safe task, as no one had threatened their kingdom in Emma’s life time. And with Emma’s training in various forms of combat (sword fighting from her father, archery from her mother, and strategy from her tutors), it had seemed like a perfect fit.

Sadly, the last year had been fairly uneventful. This had been Emma’s first real test, and she hadn’t succeeded.

She comforted herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t actually _failed_ , either. At least she hadn’t made things worse.

She sighed, trying to think of a way to make it up to her parents. If she didn’t, they might not trust her again, and Emma couldn’t bear it they made her go back to her role as a largely useless member of their court. It would break her.

A shout sounded from above, and Emma followed the gazes of the crew members to see a ship on the horizon. She didn’t panic, not yet, as they had encountered a number of ships on their journey. But by the looks on the faces of the men and women around her, something was different.

“What is it?” she asked the nearest crewmember as they hurried past.

“Pirates, miss,” the young girl told her before hurrying off to her duties.

Emma’s blood ran cold.

She’d heard the stories. There weren’t many pirate ships in the Enchanted Forest, but there were enough that they managed to cause some trouble in the outer reaches of the realm.

She just hoped it wasn’t Captain Hook. There were so many conflicting reports about him. Was he a gentleman pirate, or the most ruthless man on the high seas? Whichever, Emma knew he would be deadly, and she didn’t want to cross him.

Whispers carried across the deck. Emma made her way over to the captain of the ship.

“What is it, Phelps?” she asked.

“It’s the Jolly Roger, Milady. The vessel of Captain Hook.”

Emma almost rolled her eyes. Bloody typical.

“Can we outrun it?” she asked.

Phelps shook his head slowly. “The _Jolly_ is the fastest ship in all the realms. And it’s enchanted to withstand canon fire.” His eyes slid over to hers. “I believe we might be doomed, Milady.”

Emma was not unaffected by the fear in the man’s eyes, but she couldn’t let it show. He might be captain of the ship, but she was a princess of this kingdom, and the highest ranked person aboard. People would look to her for guidance.

“Nonsense,” she told him firmly. “There has to be a way.”

“No one has ever won against Captain Hook. If we can’t outrun them, and we can’t blast them out of the water, what can we possibly do instead?”

Emma thought about it for a moment, considering and discarding all the options.

Eventually, an idea came to her. One that was rather outlandish, but might just work.

“His ship may be enchanted, but are his men?”

“Milady?”

“Well, he and his sailors must be human, correct? So, all we need to do is fight them face to face, and we will be on equal footing.”

Hope slowly dawned in Phelps’ eyes. “We get in close, and we board them,” he muttered in awe.

“Exactly,” she replied with a grin. “The ship might sustain some damage in the approach, but it will be worth the risk to save our lives.”

Phelps drew in a breath to call down to his crew, but Emma stopped him with a light touch to the arm.

“Quietly,” she murmured. “No need to let _him_ know our plan.” She gestured to the other ship, knowing that its captain was likely watching their every move.

Phelps nodded and then walked calmly down to his crew, letting them know the plan.

As confident as she had tried to appear in front of the captain, she had no way of knowing whether her plan would work. But if everyone was doubtful and afraid, they would have lost the battle before it had begun.

Emma went down to her room and collected her sword. She wished she’d brought her bow, but hadn’t thought she’d need it aboard a ship.

She strode back to the deck, glad she hadn’t worn a dress simply for appearance’s sake. Her parents preferred her to look the part of a princess when in public, but Emma avoided it as much as possible. She understood the strategic value of manipulating people’s expectations, but she didn’t have to like it.

The _Jolly Roger_ was much closer now, and clearly heading straight towards them. There could be no doubt now that they were in for a fight.

The crack of cannon fire sounded, and there was a splash not 5 feet from their ship. Crewmembers were rushing around the deck, trying to turn the ship around. It was coming about quickly, but Emma was concerned it wasn’t quite fast enough.

Another crack sounded, and this time the cannonball sailed straight over the deck. Good, they’d over compensated, clearly not expecting their forward manoeuvre.

Their ship was halfway to the _Jolly Roger_ when the first cannonball hit.

It slammed directly into the ship, almost dead centre of the prow, causing it to rock violently. Emma stumbled, but regained her footing. There was chaos on the deck, as crewmembers ran back and forth frantically. Emma tried to stay out of their way, and ended up at the prow, right above the new hole, watching the _Jolly Roger_ grow larger than life as they inched closer to it.

Another cannonball hit, this time whizzing above her head to strike the deck. Emma ducked at the impact. When she stood, Emma could see a large void where she had walked just minutes before.

They were so close to the _Jolly_ , but Emma was beginning to suspect their ship wouldn’t survive this run. And once they drew alongside it was only the beginning of the danger.

They had nearly reached the other ship. Emma almost let herself believe that they had sustained the final hit, when one last cannonball sailed past. This one directly hit the mast, and Emma knew it was all over. They would never be able to sail home now. Despair crept into her heart, and she thought briefly of her parents, and hoped they wouldn’t blame themselves.

The mast creaked, and then slowly tumbled into the water. From what she could see, it took three crewmembers with it.

She turned back to the _Jolly Roger_ , and realised that there _was_ still a functioning ship. They simply had to take it. Emma pushed any worry from her mind and smiled determinedly. She _would_ return home.

The momentum they had built carried them next to the _Jolly_ , even without the mast. Her crewmembers were waiting, and immediately threw down the boards as the ships drew level. Emma raced down to join them, as her sailors rushed over onto the deck of the other ship.

Once on board, Emma immediately looked around for the man known as Captain Hook. Surely he should be easy enough to spot, if he was named literally.

She leapt onto the rigging and climbed up enough to see above the heads of the fighting sailors. She caught sight of a man all in black leather, alternating between using a sword in his right hand, and a hook on his left as he fought the first mate from her ship.

Emma grinned and jumped down to pursue her quarry.

She weaved through the battle, exhilarated at finally having a real fight to test her skills. She blocked and parried various blows as she went, but didn’t stop to engage her opponents. She only had one man on her mind.

She reached him just as he thrust his sword through the first mate’s chest. Emma cried out, shocked at the amount of blood pouring from his chest.

Captain Hook’s gaze whipped in her direction at the sound and his eyes narrowed in surprise when he caught sight of her.

“First fight, darling?” he drawled.

She squared her shoulders and faced him. “It might be my first, but it will definitely be your last,” she told him with all the bravado she could muster.

He chuckled. While he was distracted, she raised her sword quickly and took a deft swing at him. He managed to raise his sword in time to block her, but the move had little finesse. She pressed her advantage, swinging once again. This time blocked her with his hook and swung his sword in from the side.

Emma dropped to a crouch and the sword went sailing past her head. She wrenched her sword away from his hook and stabbed it up towards him.

He jumped back, parrying her sword out of the way. He grinned down at her.

“Not bad, for a novice,” he said with a wink.

Emma snarled in reply and sprang to her feet. She threw out a series of moves in quick succession that quickly dropped the cocky grin from his face as he was forced to concentrate to parry them.

He tried to use his hook again, but she was ready, moving her sword out of the way so he couldn’t capture it.

He swung his sword and she whirled to the side.

He stumbled past her with the momentum of his blow and Emma saw her opportunity. Using the hilt of her sword, she whacked him firmly on the back of the head.

He dropped like a stone.

Emma stood there, staring in shock at the sprawled form of the pirate. The sounds of the battle were fading behind her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off her opponent. She didn’t even care about the outcome of the battle at this point. He looked so still.

Was he _dead?_ Had she just killed a man? Had she just killed _Captain Hook_?

She crouched beside him and felt at his neck for a pulse. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she felt it beating strongly. He wasn’t dead, just unconscious.

She finally turned to look behind her.

A crowd stood there, watching her. She searched their faces and recognised many of her own crew. Captain Hook’s people were on their knees in front of them, clearly having surrendered.

It dawned on Emma that she had just bested the most feared pirate captain in the land, and stolen his ship to boot. She felt a little thrill of pride. For once, she’d managed to do something right.

But, well, what now?


	2. Chapter 2

Killian woke to the sound of voices. His head was throbbing too loudly to make out the words, but he could tell one voice was a woman’s and it was vaguely familiar.

He must have had a rather unusual amount of rum to feel this awful. In fact, he was sure he had never had a hangover even remotely this bad, even in his darkest days.

He tried to rub his eyes, hoping it would help his head clear. Instead, he heard a vague clank and realised he was chained to the wall.

It was only then that he remembered the fight aboard the _Jolly_ and the minx that had had the gall the challenge him on his own ship. Challenge him and _win_ , which he couldn’t help but admit a grudging admiration about. That would teach him to underestimate his opponents.

The voices sounded again, and this time he recognised his lovely adversary’s voice. He groaned and they instantly hushed.

“You awake, pirate?” she asked, tapping him on the boot with her foot.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the light of the lantern. He looked around and his heart leapt when he saw he was in the hold of the _Jolly_. They hadn’t sunk her to the depths of the sea after they caught him, then. He was relieved his old friend had made it. She’d been through too much with him to deserve an ignominious end at the bottom of the ocean.

Killian’s eyes slid over the dark-skinned man standing in the shadows in the corner of the room but found nothing to hold his interest. Instead, his gaze was drawn to the blonde standing in front of him. His captor. She was a beautiful woman, he admitted with little heat, but he couldn’t decide whether he liked her best now, cool and competent, or the first time he had seen her, fiery in the midst of battle. Both looks suited her.

“Congratulations, you defeated me. I can count on one hand the number of people who have done that,” he told her with an attempt at a smile.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“A little.”

Her mouth kicked up at the corners. Ah, so the lass had a sense of humour. He liked her more by the minute.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him, only a little grudgingly. He felt tempted to play up his wound, but thought better of it. He had no desire to start playing games with this one.

“A little sore, but I’ve had worse.”

“No doubt,” she muttered dryly. “Can I get you some water?”

He nodded and then winced. “Please,” he said, instead.

She went to a bucket in the corner and scooped up some water. She crouched next to him and looked like she was about to offer it to him, until she glanced at the place where his hook used to be.

“I see you’ve confiscated my appendage,” he observed.

“Naturally,” she told him. “I couldn’t have you waving any deadly weaponry about. You might have tripped and hurt yourself.”

It was the false innocence on her face that really did him in. He chuckled.

“I suppose I deserve that crack. Well done, lass. You have impressive skills with a blade.”

Her eyes warmed as she smiled at him, and Killian felt an ache somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. If it wasn’t for the fact that his good hand was chained up he would have rubbed his chest at the strangeness of the sensation.

His captor moved closer and he held her gaze as she raised the cup to his mouth. He felt her finger graze his lips, before she gently tilted the water into his mouth. He sipped slowly, never taking his eyes from hers. He heard her breath hitch slightly and she unconsciously licked her lips. Obviously she wasn’t unaffected by him, either.

He finished the drink, and her fingers lightly trailed his lower lip once more as she removed the cup. His tongue darted out to collect the last drop of water, and her eyes riveted on his mouth.

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely, and he could have sworn he saw her blush as she returned her gaze to his eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

She stood up and took a few steps back, clearly trying to put him in his place after their intimacy of moments before. Well, he never had been any good at staying in his place.

“So, what are you going to do with me now, lass?” he asked, rattling the chains. “I can think of a few suggestions.” He raised his brow to convey his innuendo.

To her credit, she rolled her eyes. “The only thing I’m going to do with you, pirate, is deliver you to the King and Queen for sentencing.”

Killian frowned. For a pirate, sentencing meant death. His sense of self-preservation kicked in.

“Surely, you don’t mean that, lass?” he asked. He could hear the pleading in his tone. “You know what it will mean.”

Her eyes widened and he saw regret soften her expression. She _hadn’t_ thought about what it would mean. Killian thought back to her reaction when he’d killed that man in front of her. It was obvious that she had a soft heart. He might be able to use that to his advantage. The voyage back to the palace was a long one.

“You are a pirate,” she reminded him, and, perhaps, herself. “It isn’t as if I can, or would, let you go.”

He nodded once, acknowledging her point. “What about my crew?”

“They didn’t all…make it,” she told him delicately. He’d expected as much, and felt heavy with regret. “But the rest are in the bigger cargo hold together. Our ship’s doctor is looking at them now.” She didn’t look him quite in the eye, and Killian knew she was avoiding answering his real question.

“What will happen when you get us back to the palace?” he asked more deliberately.

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “That will be for the King and Queen to decide. They are merciful people and have good judgement. All I can promise is that you will be treated fairly.”

Killian studied her face. Eventually, he nodded, sensing the truth behind her words.

“I suppose I can’t ask for much more than that. It was inevitable my run would come to an end eventually.”

“Very few pirates seem to live to old age.”

“True enough,” he admitted. “I’m sure you’ll get a nice reward for me, too. What’s the price on my head, these days? 1,000 gold pieces?”

“Oh, don’t undersell yourself. I’m sure it is higher than that by now,” she teased.

“I can only hope.”

Their banter paused and they just looked at each other for a long moment, grinning. Killian felt an odd pull towards her. She was his captor, for goodness sakes, and she was most likely going to deliver him to his doom. Why was he so fascinated by her?

“It will be at least a week before we reach the palace. Are you going to have me chained up for the entire time? I can’t say I’d mind so much, if you spared me a visit now and again.”

“Maybe if you are good,” she told him archly. “Anyway, it is time for me to go. I have a ship to run. I thought it would a courtesy to visit and inform you of your status as prisoner of the state, but I can’t stay in here forever.”

Killian wondered if she would want to, given the choice. She didn’t seem the type to take up with a pirate, and yet he was sure that there was something between them. Rather typical of fate to introduce him to the only woman that had interested him in a long time, right before he was going to be executed. Even he could appreciate the irony.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again,” he told her.

She left the room smiling.

It was only then that Killian remembered the man in the room.

He pushed off the wall and strolled over slowly until he was towering above Killian. The man said nothing for a long moment.

“You stay away from the princess, you hear me?” He looked at Killian long and hard to impress his point.

It was only when the man was leaving, taking the lantern with him, that Killian’s brain caught up with his ears.

“Wait! Princess?” he called, as the door clanged shut, leaving him in darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma couldn’t get the blasted pirate out of her mind. It had been about 36 hours since she’d last seen him, and during every one of those hours a random thought about him would cross her mind and she’d be forced to think about him once again. It was extremely irritating.

So, now that she had the ship in some kind of an order and Phelps was at the helm, Emma decided that she couldn’t ignore the man forever. She’d sent Amalia, one of the crew members, to collect him and bring him to her cabin. Just to talk. She was sure that whatever she had experienced around him last time was an aberration that wouldn’t be repeated in the light of day.

Besides, she did have some genuine business with him.

The door opened and he shuffled in, his wrist and ankles bound with chains, closely followed by Amalia. Emma’s heart did an odd little tumble at the sight of him which she desperately ignored.

She gave Amalia a look of annoyance. “Chains?”

“He’s dangerous,” she replied. “Part of our duty as crewmembers on this ship is to keep you safe.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “It would be extremely stupid for him to attack me. And he does not strike me as a stupid man.”

Amalia pressed her lips together to express her disagreement with the statement. Hook, on the other hand, grinned. “Thank you, lass. I believe I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Amalia stepped into his line of sight. “That’s Milady to you. You should treat her with respect.”

To forestall the potential argument, Emma spoke up. “Amalia, take the chains off and leave us, please. But the door can remain open, just in case.”

Amalia glared at Hook as she grudgingly unchained him, and then she strode out of the room.

Hook was still grinning. “Well, _Milady_ , thank you for freeing me,” he said, his arms spread wide.

“Don’t get too excited. It is only temporary.”

He shrugged philosophically. “I still get to see some daylight, and your pretty face. I can’t complain.”

She raised an eyebrow to convey how unimpressed she was. “Sit down, pirate, I have some questions for you.”

He sat on the other side of the small writing table from her and folded his hands in his lap. He looked at her with exaggerated patience, waiting.

She cleared her throat and looked down at the papers on her desk to gather her thoughts. He was even more attractive in the light of day, which hardly seemed fair. Still, he was a pirate, and she had a job to do.

“I thought that it would make the hearings go smoother if we had a record of both sides of the event. I have already written a report about what happened, but I thought it would be best if I questioned you to gain the relevant information regarding your side.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, assessing. “Fire away.”

“Firstly, what led you to attack out ship?” Emma picked up a pen and hovered it over the parchment, ready to take notes.

“I thought you were carrying the Golden Fleece,” he said with all seriousness.

Emma set the pen down and gave him a disapproving look. “If you aren’t going to be serious, then there isn’t much point to this.”

He leaned forward and stared her right in the eye. “This ‘hearing’ you are so cavalierly talking about will mean my death. We both know it. So I can assure you I am taking it very seriously. I just don’t want to contribute to the process.” He sat back in his chair, his jaw clenched.

Emma was frozen, horrified by her insensitivity. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’m getting used to the idea. But I still don’t like it.”

“Of course not. We don’t have to do this. I apologise for not thinking it through,” she told him as she stood up, ready to usher him from the room.

“Will it make your life easier if we talk about this now?” he asked softly.

She frowned, wondering why he cared. “Well, yes. It will give us accurate reports and will mean the hearing will be much shorter. I was hoping to impress my parents a little, too, with my thoroughness. But none of that is any reason to…”

“I’ll do it,” he interrupted her.

“You…you will?” she asked as she lowered herself back into her chair.

“Yes, but there has to be something in it for me, too.” He looked straight at her with a piercing gaze.

“Like what?” she asked, a little stunned by the full force of his gaze.

“A question for a question.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You ask me a question, and I answer. Truthfully. But I get to ask you a question in return that you have to answer. _Truthfully._ ”

Emma thought over this deal, frowning. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to ask me questions?”

“Because I want to know the answers?”

“But _why_?” she repeated, completely bemused

“Because you intrigue me,” he told her simply.

Emma stilled and analysed his eyes, trying to see if he was telling the truth. She rather thought he was. Emma couldn’t remember the last time someone had been interested in her just on her own merit, rather than as a princess. She felt her face warm and she tried not to act too flattered.

“Alright, if that’s what it takes,” she said instead.

He gave her a slow smile and Emma realised it probably would have been smart if she’d placed a moratorium on what kind of questions he could ask. She wondered with a small amount of panic what she had just agreed to.

“So, why did you attack our ship?”

“We’d had word that a certain merchant would be travelling on that route to deposit much of her wealth in a secret location. We mistook her ship for yours.”

“Why were you targeting that ship?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he reminded her with a wicked glint to his eye. Emma shivered slightly. “Why aren’t you married yet?”

“Who’s to say I’m not?” she countered.

“I would have heard if Princess Emma had been married. The piracy opportunities with all those visiting nobles would have been too good to pass up.”

Emma sighed. “My parents are very much in love. They have each woken the other from a sleeping curse before, so it is actually True Love. They know that what they have is special, and would never force me into giving up the possibility of it. Not to say they haven’t encouraged me towards certain gentlemen, but they let me make my own decisions in that regard.”

He was looking at her through hooded eyes. “And none of them caught your eye?”

“That’s two questions,” she informed him archly.

He gave her a wry smile in reply.

“Why were you targeting that particular merchant ship?” she asked again.

“The merchant in question reneged on a deal with us, and we were seeking compensation.”

Emma nodded and made some notes.

“Where did you learn how to sword fight?” he asked.

“My father taught me. If we hadn’t bested you, how would you have dealt with the situation when you crippled our ship and then discovered it was the wrong vessel?”

At this, Hook paused. “I can’t say for sure. I might have raided your cargo and set you adrift. I might have taken you on board as hostages. I might have towed you to the nearest port. I really can’t answer that definitively.”

Emma shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the answer. What had she expected, that he was a decent man that would have helped them to the nearest port out of the goodness of his heart? The man was a pirate, for goodness sakes. He wouldn’t have an honourable bone in his body.

“Why do you feel the need to impress your parents? Surely they are nothing but proud of you,” his voice interrupted her musings.

Emma’s jaw clenched as she considered her answer. She had promised to be truthful, but this question touched on her deepest fears and fondest hopes, and he was the last person she should be sharing those with. The last person she should _want_ to share them with. And yet…

“My parents had all kinds of adventures when they were younger, both together and on their own. They used to tell me these wonderful tales of how they defeated some bridge trolls, or fought medusa. My mother was a princess-turned-bandit, and my father was a shepherd-turned-prince. They were, _are_ , interesting. But what have I done, other than growing up in a castle being useless and never doing anything exciting? This has been the first opportunity they’ve given me, and I don’t want to disappoint them. If I do, they may never give me another chance.”

Emma took a breath and glanced at Hook to find him watching her intensely. She waited for some kind of snarky dismissal, but none came. “No one that has ever met you would consider you boring or useless. I can attest to that first hand. But, perhaps it is time you stopped asking for permission, and seized the opportunity to create your own adventures.” He gave her a small smile as he looked at her sincerely and Emma felt herself blushing. She lowered her gaze to hands, and considered his statement. Could he be right? She pushed the thought aside to consider later.

In retaliation for him asking such a personal question, she quickly thought of one that might make him equally uncomfortable. “How did you become a pirate?”

He froze. “Lass, I really don’t think…”

“You promised me answers. Honest ones,” she reminded him.

“So I did.” He sighed. “That King you were visiting so recently? The one your parents seem to hold in such regard? I was a member of his ancestor’s Royal Navy. My captain was my brother, Liam. The King chose us for a special mission to retrieve a plant from a far off land. It was meant to have magical healing properties. Instead, it was a deadly poison, which my brother found out the hard way. I vowed I would no longer pledge my loyalty to a king with so little honour.”

Emma blinked, feeling tears burning at the back of her eyes at the pain in his voice. It was obvious that his brother meant a great deal to him.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

He nodded his thanks. Emma studied him, surprised that he had once been a man that had fought for things he believed in, like loyalty and honour. Was that man still in there somewhere?

Then she remembered an odd word choice. “Wait, his ancestor? King Francis must be 60 if he’s a day.”

“I’m older than I look, lass. I’ve been around for quite some time.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Magic, different realms, the usual.”

“After all this time, I was the one to capture you. And it was largely by accident,” she said in wonder.

“You have succeeded where many have failed. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.”

The air charged between them as he said it, never taking his eyes from her face. Emma was suspended in the moment, feeling a connection to this man that she never would have anticipated. The seconds ticked by, and neither of them moved.

A knock interrupted the intense silence and Emma started guiltily. There was no way she should be having _moments_ with a pirate.

“Sorry to interrupt, Milady,” said Amalia respectfully, shooting daggers at Hook. “But there’s a problem.”

Emma stood up. “What kind of problem?”

Amalia’s gaze flickered to the pirate and back. She lowered her voice. “There’s a storm coming.”

“It must be quite a storm to cause this much trouble.”

“Well, yes. But that’s not everything,” the sailor shifted on her feet, clearly nervous.

“Amalia, just spit it out,” Emma growled as a sudden feeling of dread began creeping over her.

“It’s more pirates, Milady.”

“Again? What are we some kind of magnet for these guys? Can’t we just outrun them?”

“We’ve been trying, but they just keep gaining.”

“Who is it?” Hook’s low voice interrupted them. “Whose ship is it?”

Emma looked over at him. Ever muscle in his body had tensed and he was gripping the arm of the chair so hard she thought it might crack. He was staring at Amalia fiercely, waiting for her answer as if his whole world depended on the answer.

“We…we don’t know,” Amalia stammered, taking a step back at the force of his gaze.

Hook launched himself up and began striding out of the cabin. Emma and Amalia raced out after him, following him to the deck. The wind whipped Emma’s hair across her face, and she could smell the oncoming storm in the air.

Emma saw Hook rip a spyglass out of the hand of a sailor at the railing. The crewmembers had backed off out of his way and were watching him as Hook used the telescope to get a closer look at the ship on the horizon.

“It’s not possible,” he said absently, clearly in a state of shock. “He’s long dead.”

“What? Who is it?” Emma shouted in frustration.

Hook turned and faced her, his face leeched of colour.

“Only one man has a ship that black that is fast enough to outrun the _Jolly_. Blackbeard. My father. Who happened to sink to the bottom of the ocean with his ship over three hundred years ago.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Your father is an infamous pirate that officially died over three hundred years ago?” Emma asked doubtfully.

“Sadly, yes.” Hook was obviously making an effort to gain mastery over himself. Emma could see him flexing his hand as if he longed to be holding something.

“What does he want?”

Hook looked her dead in the eye. “I have no idea.”

He was lying. She frowned, and tried to piece it all together. “Well, presumably it has something to do with you. Unless anyone else on this ship has a connection to Blackbeard?”

She looked around at the faces of the crew as each one of them shook their heads.

She looked back at Hook. “Well?”

“Yes, presumably it is me he is after. But I haven’t seen the man in 300 years, so there is no way I can really know what he wants. He’s meant to be dead.”

Emma narrowed her eyes but chose not to pursue her questioning in lieu of the more pressing issues at hand.

“How do we defeat him?”

“I don’t even know if he is still alive or if he’s a ghost from beyond the grave. And if he is alive, how? So I know about as much as the rest of you.”

“Any ideas?” she asked the crew. They again shook their heads.

The storm was still brewing on the horizon. Until now, they had been sailing almost parallel to it. An idea began forming in Emma’s mind, a rather dangerous one.

“The way I see it, we’ve got two options,” she said, speaking to the entire crew. “First option, we engage with Blackbeard, either by waiting for him, or going on the offensive and striking at him first. Second option, take our chances in the storm and hope we lose him.”

She paused. They were all watching her silently, waiting for her to decide the course of action.

“Pardon me, Milady, but there’s a third option.”

Emma glanced over to see Amalia pushing her way forward to the front of the crowd.

“And what’s that?” Emma asked, hopeful that this suggestion would be less dangerous than the ones she presented.

“If Blackbeard wants _him_ ,” she sneered, gesturing to Hook. “Then, I suggest we give the pirate back to his father in exchange for free passage.”

Everything in Emma rebelled against the suggestion.

She looked around at the faces of her crewmembers, and saw they were nodding at Amalia’s suggestion.

Her eyes moved to Hook, who looked back with pleading eyes. There was a part of her brain that was telling Emma it was a reasonable plan. Hook was a pirate and probably deserved whatever was given to him.

But it was quite clear that Hook was very afraid of Blackbeard. If a man that had spent three hundred years in the violent profession of piracy was scared of someone, that someone must be beyond terrifying.

“We’re not going to do that,” Emma told them clearly. The relief on Hook’s face was obvious. “We are servants of the crown, and he is our prisoner. We have a duty to _safely_ escort him to his trial. Anything less, and we may as well throw our honour overboard with him.”

She glared fiercely at the assembled sailors and many of them glanced away guiltily. Once she was sure she had fully impressed on them her feelings on the matter, she continued.

“Both facing Blackbeard and sailing straight into the storm are dangerous options. I won’t pretend otherwise. But if we stand and fight Blackbeard, we will be facing an unknown enemy. One that we may not be able to defeat. However, this ship and this crew have weathered many a dangerous storm. I have absolute faith that we can get out of that alive. What do you say?”

Emma had half expected a rousing cheer at her speech. Instead, she got some resigned nods and a few polite claps. Well, it was something.

The crew went off to resume their duties, and Captain Phelps began yelling the orders that would take the ship directly into the storm.

Emma turned to Hook as he stepped in close.

“Thank you,” he told her, his voice harsh with gratitude.

“It was the right thing to do,” she replied.

“Many would disagree.”

“Those people aren’t me.”

“That much is clear.” The expression on his face was intense, but she couldn’t quite work out its meaning. She held his gaze for a long moment, trying to puzzle it out. Then, he blinked and the expression was gone.

Hook walked over to the side of the ship and looked out at the storm. Emma followed and propped her hip on the rail beside him.

“How much of a chance of surviving this encounter do we have?” she asked softly, studying his profile as he continued to stare at their destination. He looked like he was contemplating something deeply philosophically.

“Not much,” he answered. “You would have had more chance if you’d set me adrift.”

“I know,” she whispered, trying to tell him without words that she would never choose that path. Not when it came to him.

Hook’s only reaction was a slight hitch to his breath before he turned his face away.

“We should get below. The storm will be on us, soon.” He never looked her way as he strode towards the stairs that led to the lower deck.

Emma didn’t follow immediately. What was with her and this pirate? She couldn’t deny any longer that she was drawn to him. But she couldn’t quite articulate to herself why. That he had once been more than a villain was clear. And she was beginning to suspect that that honourable man was still in there somewhere. But it still didn’t explain the connection she felt between them.

A shout went up, and Emma realised that while she had been musing the storm had been getting stronger. The wind was no longer content to play with strands of her hair, and instead was unleashing violent waves that were crashing against the hull.

She stumbled as the ship picked up speed and rocked dangerously in the roiling sea. The force of the gusts made it difficult to find her footing, particularly as the deck was becoming slick with ocean spray.

She made it halfway to the door before the rain began, and it quickly turned into a downpour. Fat drops of water splattered down, drenching her within seconds.

Emma tried to pick up her pace, but her foot slipped on the wet wood. She came down hard on one knee and had to limp the rest of the way to the stairs. A vicious crack of thunder sounded, making her jump, and Emma to wonder whether it might have been wiser to face Blackbeard after all.

She made it to her cabin, glad she had such an experienced captain such as Phelps at the helm. It was with that thought that she realised there was an entirely different captain waiting for her at her desk.

“Hook, what are you doing here?”

“I didn’t feel it was safe for me to go back to the hold with the current weather conditions. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me roaming about the ship.”

There was a bitterness to him that she hadn’t seen before. He looked harsh, more raw, like he’d been bottling up painful feelings and they were close to erupting from him.

The ship swayed violently, and Emma had to catch herself from falling. She made her way over to the bed, dripping water as she went. She sat, feeling much safer.

Hook was watching her with hooded eyes and rapping his fingers against the deck. The cabin was small so she didn’t have to yell over the sound of the storm as she spoke.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He narrowed his eyes and for a moment she thought he would refuse to answer. The ship pitched, but she rolled with it, waiting for his answer.

“I should be at the helm,” he muttered eventually. “She’s my ship, and I should be the one steering her.”

“Phelps is a good captain,” she reassured him.

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied, he spat. “But it is like someone moving into your house while you are still living there and making everything their own. It just feels wrong.”

“This ship has been your home for a long time,” she said sympathetically. He nodded, jaw clenched. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it. It’s Blackbeard.”

Hook looked right at her, and even in the dim light Emma could make out the pained fury in his eyes. “That man should be dead. He _deserves_ to be dead.” Emma heard a lifetime of agony and rage behind those words.

She was about to ask him more when the _Jolly_ suddenly tilted and Emma gripped the bed frame to stay steady. She saw Hook clutching the desk, and they both looked up as the wood above them creaked ominously. The ship tilted back the other way, and Emma knew they must be in the worst of the storm.

The violent movements of the ship stopped any possible conversation. The two of them held on for dear life as they were tossed about. Thunder and lightning punctuated the sounds of objects being thrown around the cabin. Emma felt queasy as her stomach dropped with the movement of the ship.

And then the movements changed and became even more uneven. She felt like they were spinning.

“Something’s wrong,” she heard Hook say over the sound of the storm.

“What?” she asked him.

“Something is wrong with the ship,” he clarified, but he was already up and moving out the door. Emma stumbled after him.

The second they were out on the deck, Emma could see the place was in chaos even through the blinding rain.

Sailors weren’t at their posts. People were yelling, but Emma couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the storm.

She grabbed Amalia as she saw the woman move passed.

“What’s wrong with the ship?” Emma shouted. Now that she was on deck, she could feel what Hook had sensed. The ship was out of control.

“Phelps is dead. He went overboard.”

The breath went out of Emma. “No,” she said in denial. Then, “we have no captain? _Now?_ ”

She looked up towards the helm, but could only make out some blurred shapes. She lurched up the stairs and saw Hook arguing with the second mate, his hook steadying the helm as much as he could.

“Amalia is first mate after _you_ killed our last one. She should be captain!” she heard the other man shout over the rain.

“This is my ship, and I know her better than anyone. If anyone can get us out of this storm alive, it will be me,” Hook replied angrily, his voice almost carried away on the wind.

“Gentlemen!” Emma called, gripping the nearest railing to steady herself. She glanced between the two of them, sizing them up. “I am the highest ranked person here, and I say that Hook is the most qualified captain we have right now. So stop fighting and save us from this blasted storm.”

Hook gave her a grateful smile and turned back to the helm, ignoring the other man completely.

Emma stayed on deck with her crew as they worked frantically to keep the ship together in the battering storm. She did her best to stay out of the way, or help as needed. She was quickly numb to the cold and the misery, and just focused steadily on her tasks.

They lost four more sailors, and Emma let Hook’s pirates out of the hold to help make up the numbers.

It was hours later, and everyone was beyond exhausted, when the storm finally began to settle. The wind dropped, the thunder and lightning moved away as the rain cleared.

And when it did, Emma’s heart constricted. Because only four boat lengths away was a sleek black ship, the likes of which she had never seen.

Blackbeard had managed to follow them through the storm.

A wave of hopelessness crashed over her. All of it had been for nothing – the lost lives and the misery had been a pointless waste.

Emma knew she couldn’t give up just yet, though. She straightened her shoulders and fingered the sword at her hip. A slim chance was still a chance, so she had no intention of conceding this until she was cold in her grave.

An eerie calm descended on the ship, even more noticeable after the chaos of the storm. As one, the crew looked out onto the vessel that probably held the most fearsome man that had ever lived.

The deck of the black ship was still and quiet, as if the vessel was empty. And yet the ship still made its way steadily towards them.

The two hulls bumped slightly as they came into contact. A plank was thrown down by some unseen hand. Emma shivered. Feeling cold, wet and tired made her imagine all manner of hellish things on the vessel.

Footsteps sounded, and a pirate came into view. She could see that his tricorne hat was moth eaten, even from a distance. And she suspected that there were cobwebs in the folds. His face was brutal, a mix of harsh planes and deadened eyes. His skin had a bluish tinge, and his age was impossible to determine. He could have been anywhere from thirty to a hundred and five.

His clothes were no less ancient than the hat. They had dark stains and holes all over them, and the fabric was worn thin in many places.

As the man made his way down the plank, Emma caught a glimpse of his neck between the folds of his collar and saw a vicious scar there. She had no doubt that someone had once tried to take this man’s head off.

The pirate looked around, eyeing each of them as they were gathered around him. She felt a collective shiver pass through them all as his pale, emotionless gaze swept over them.

Eventually those cold eyes landed on Hook. His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile.

“Hello, son. I bet you thought you’d done away with me for good. But there was no way in _hell_ I would ever let my murder go unavenged.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, father,” Killian drawled as he unsheathed his sword and held it loosely in the direction of the man that had made so many years of his life a misery. He gripped the hilt tightly in an attempt to disguise the shaking of his hand. “I can’t say that this is a pleasant surprise. What happened? Did the devil decide that even he didn’t want you and so spat you back out of hell?”

At the edge of his vision, Killian saw the crew shuffling to surround the two of them. Emma was standing almost directly behind Blackbeard, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. When their eyes met he gave a small shake of his head, not wanting her to interfere. Killian knew from experience that Blackbeard was extremely dangerous and he didn’t want Emma to get hurt on his behalf.

“I swore that I would return to enact my vengeance on all who had a hand in my death. A God must have heard my vow, because here I stand, facing the last of my murderers.”

Blackbeard was standing loosely on the deck, unphased by the angry sailors around him. The only sign that he had any interest in the proceedings was the glint of sick excitement in his eyes.

Killian stepped forward. “So, you have me. What now?”

Blackbeard slowly drew his sword for the scabbard and held it near Killian’s throat with casual menace. “Now, I kill you. Just as you sliced my throat three hundred years ago.”

“You deserved it,” Killian hissed. “Not only did you make my and Liam’s lives miserable, you spent your every waking moment destroying other people. You needed to be stopped. And when the order came through that we were given the task, I was _glad._ ” Killian’s sword slipped in his clammy hands and he clenched the hilt tighter still. No one had ever been able to instil fear in him like his father.

“Perhaps I did deserve death, though you didn’t give me the mercy of an honourable end in a fair fight. So you, my boy, are the worst kind of hypocrite. Spouting words about _honour_ and _good form_ , but then you ended up exactly like me,” he said scornfully. The blade of Blackbeard’s cutlass scraped idly up Killian’s neck as he talked.

“I am nothing like you!” Killian’s voice cracked as he yelled.

Blackbeard gave him a mocking look. “Captain Hook, the most feared pirate in all the lands? I wonder who else once held that title.” It was the smile that did it. Blackbeard’s lips stretched into a triumphant sneer and Killian felt a dark contempt spread from the pit of his stomach.

He yelled in inarticulate rage, but whether at his father or himself, he didn’t know. He brought his sword up to knock aside Blackbeard’s blade and then lunged forward. But Blackbeard was prepared for the attack and stepped neatly to the side, swinging his sword at Killian’s good arm as he did so. As Killian prepared himself for the loss of his only remaining hand, he felt the flat of the blade hit his wrist and he dropped his sword at the unexpected sting.

Killian straightened slowly, now unarmed and feeling exceedingly vulnerable. His father smiled smugly.

“You should have learned by now that you should never cross me. It will only end in defeat.”

Blackbeard positioned the blade to strike. Killian saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Maybe your defeat,” came Emma’s cry from behind Blackbeard. Killian stepped forward to stop her, warn her, but it was too late. She drove her blade deep into the man’s back, the tip of the sword exiting through his stomach.

Blackbeard paused for a moment and half-turned as he brutally backhanded Emma across the face. She went flying into the side of the ship and lay distressingly still.

“Now, where were we?” Blackbeard asked, unconcerned. Killian ignored him, completely focused on Emma until he saw her stir. Then, he looked back up at his father, surprised to see a speculative look on the man’s face.

“The girl is important to you,” he stated with some astonishment. “How interesting.”

Blackbeard turned his back on Killian and walked over to Emma. The sword still protruded from him, taunting them with his invincibility.

Killian moved to stand protectively next to Emma as Blackbeard loomed over her.

“I must admit, I do like the idea of killing those you care about, my boy. Should I start with her?”

“Go to hell,” Emma spat, struggling to sit up.

“Oh, child, I’m not going anywhere until I feel the joyful satisfaction of vengeance fulfilled.”

Killian offered his hook to Emma and helped pull her to her feet. They stood side by side, facing the enemy.

“So, you are saying that you can’t die until I do?” Killian asked, his gut clenching in fear. He couldn’t help stealing a quick glance at Emma, thinking how unfair the universe was. The one woman in all the realms that had made him want to be more than he was, and he was going to be sent to his grave before being given a chance to see if she could forgive his past. Or if he could forgive himself.

Blackbeard grinned. “Indeed. It seems our lives are inextricably linked.”

Killian clenched his jaw and straightened his spine, grudgingly accepting this as his punishment for centuries of misdeeds. “Then take me, and leave the rest of them be.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Not just yet.” Blackbeard’s cutlass swung up in a movement too quick for the eye. Killian didn’t even have time to think.

“No!” Killian shouted and stepped forward, protecting Emma from the blow.

Tearing agony ripped through his chest. He looked down to see the hilt of the sword jutting from beneath his ribs. He staggered back, collapsing into Emma, his weight dragging them both to the deck.

He began to shiver, the cold seeping into his very bones. A black mist crept over his vision. The last thing he heard was Blackbeard’s triumphant laugh and Emma’s soft gasps before he succumbed to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, God, I am so sorry. But I promise this is not the end!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long. I hope it was worth the wait!

Emma curled herself around Hook protectively, her hands frantically trying to stem the tide of blood gushing from his chest.

He wasn’t going to die. She wouldn’t accept that.

Emma’s vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly to clear the tears. She glared up at Blackbeard, still looming menacingly over the two of them.

A few of the crew members stepped forward, as if to help. Blackbeard raised his sword in their direction, the casual movement managing to convey an overwhelming threat. Hook’s lifeblood dripped from the blade, and Emma swore she could feel the man in her arms slipping a little closer to death with each drop that hit the deck.

“You bastard,” she spat viciously.

He just grinned, looking victorious. “Perhaps. But I got exactly what I wished for.” The smug satisfaction on his face sent a shiver down her spine.

Emma was about to tell him exactly what she thought of that when Hook shuddered violently. She looked down, seeing the sickly pallor of his skin. He was weakening. She tightened her arm around him and tried to give him the strength to hold on. He relaxed infinitesimally in her arms.

Emma raised her gaze once again to Blackbeard, and was shocked to see his skin had become slightly transparent. He hadn’t seemed to notice, though, as he gave her a gloating look. “It is the end he deserves,” Blackbeard told her, sounding strangely kind, a sentiment completely undermined by the emptiness in his eyes.

A sick feeling crept over her. “No,” she whispered, and knew her word to be true. Hook may be a pirate, but that didn’t warrant such a death.

Emma narrowed her eyes at Blackbeard and noticed that it wasn’t just his skin becoming transparent. He was literally fading. She remembered what he had said about his life being linked to Hook’s, but the significance of that seemed to slip from her grasp. All she knew was that she had to hold Hook tighter if she didn’t want to lose him.

Blackbeard’s fading halted as she cradled the unconscious form of Hook closer to her chest, still pressing desperately on his wound. Her hands slipped on the blood-soaked leather as she tried frantically to stem the pulsing flow from his chest.

It was only then that Blackbeard seemed to notice his incorporeal form.

The dead man blinked in surprise and held up his hand to the sun. A slow, malicious smile spread across his face.

“Your lover is dying,” he told her with alarming casualness. Emma didn’t bother to correct him, as the meaning of Blackbeard’s ghostly figure finally became clear.

“So are you,” she snarled. Blackbeard laughed in reply.

Emma thought frantically. There had to be a way for Blackbeard to die without him taking Hook, too. What was it that the bastard had said? “ _I’m not going anywhere until I feel the joyful satisfaction of vengeance fulfilled.”_

A plan began to coalesce. She waited for the right moment, frowning up at the apparition in front of her so that her face wouldn’t betray her.

Before Emma could put her plan into action, a crew member rushed forward, slicing at Blackbeard with his sword. The blade went right through the pirate as if he wasn’t there. Blackbeard turned, his raised sword as transparent as the rest of him. He solidified, blocking Emma’s view of what happened next. But the shocked gasp and wet pull of sword through flesh was enough to inform her that the blade had taken form in the sailor’s chest, even before the lifeless body of the crewmember collapsed on the deck.

“Anyone else?” Blackbeard asked as he raised a single brow. It was almost as if he was enjoying himself. When no one stepped forward, Blackbeard once again allowed himself to fade as he turned back to Emma.

She looked down at the man in her arms and was shocked to see how still he was.

“Hook?” she asked, her voice cracking. Her heart clenched and her chest felt tight.

There was nothing, no movement at all. Not even a breath.

“You heartless bastard! He’s dead!” She felt herself choking on the words as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “This is all your fault,” she sobbed, clutching Hook’s body closer to her.

“Aye,” he said, not a sliver of regret in his expression. With one last grin, Blackbeard disappeared completely from view.

Emma waited, not daring to breathe. After a few long moments, she finally let the air out of her lungs in relief.

“Watkins,” she called. “Come quick. We have to stitch up this wound.”

Watkins stepped cautiously forward. “But, Milady, he’s…”

“He’s not dead,” she said incredulously. “I just had to let Blackbeard think that. But he will be soon if you don’t hurry.”

At that, the portly man rushed forward and began to take over, directing people to fetch his things and clear spaces and so forth. Emma let him, focusing all her concentration on Hook.

“Be strong,” she whispered. “Use my strength if you need to. Just _live_.”

When the sailors tried to take him out of her arms, Emma protested. She couldn’t let him get out of reach. Watkins was not willing to take the time to argue, given how critical his patient was, so Emma was allowed to hold his hand as they stretchered him to her quarters. She had insisted he be moved there, ostensibly because it was the most comfortable cabin, but really she just needed Hook close to her.

Watkins tried to get her out of the room during the surgery, but Emma knew she couldn’t leave the patient. So, she stayed, ignoring the grumbling of the sailors as she stroked Hook’s hair back from his forehead and murmured soothing and fortifying words in his ear. As long as she was touching him, it would be alright. She didn’t know how, or why, but she was not willing to forsake that inner voice.

The surgery was long and arduous. The sword had done a lot of damage internally, and the restless pitching of the ship did not help matters.

Many gruelling hours later it was finally complete and the surgeons stepped back. Emma still hadn’t moved.

“Milady, you must know. It is very likely he won’t last much longer. He’s too close.”

“He’ll live,” she told them softly. Even she could hear the incongruous conviction in her words.

“Milady,” Watkins began warningly.

“I’ll call for you if you are required,” she said firmly. The sailors hesitated. She saw them exchanging glances, before evidently deciding to leave her. Moments later she was alone with Hook.

And that’s largely how she stayed for the next days and nights. In that time, Emma could count on one hand the times she wasn’t touching him. She held his hand, or stroked his brow during the day. At night, she entwined their fingers so that they would not be parted as she slept.

Part of her found it strange that she felt a need to hold on to the man in such a literal way. But, then, she would move to the door to collect a tray of food, or perform her morning ablutions, and his breath would rattle alarmingly in his chest until she hurried back to his side. She found her voice helped, too. Emma made sure to tell him to be strong, trying to impart as much power through her words and touch as she possibly could.

Three days later, he slipped slowly into consciousness. She was there, waiting, clutching at his hand as he slowly opened his eyes.

“Emma?” he murmured, barely above a breath. Her name had never sounded so beautiful.

 


	7. Chapter 7

It was a few days before Hook could do much more than sleep, let alone hold any kind of meaningful conversation. Frustration born of uselessness gnawed at him. He was a total invalid. Emma had fed and watered him for two days, much to his chagrin.

“I think you need a bath,” she told him late on the second day, holding up a bucket and sponge. He hesitated, hating the knowledge that she was probably right, and that he definitely couldn’t do the task himself. The thought of her seeing him so weak and helpless was not a pleasant one. However, Emma running her hands over his unclothed body? That held more appeal.

“If you must,” he replied, resolutely focusing on the positives.

Emma’s eyes drifted down and a flush heated her cheeks. Obviously she was only just realising what that might entail. He smirked, enjoying her discomfort. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and pealed back the covers, revealing the hideous brown nightshirt someone had put him in after his leathers had been soaked with blood.

To avoid more injury to himself, Hook manoeuvred himself around as Emma slowly removed the shirt. His muscles contracted every time he felt her fingers brush against his skin, though he could tell she was trying not to touch him. The sheets of the bunk, ( _her bunk_ , he could not let himself forget), tangled modestly about his midsection. By the end of the process, both of them were breathing hard, and not just because of the physical exertion. Emma seemed to have difficulty meeting his gaze.

Then, the real torture began. Emma soaped up the sponge and trailed it over his arms and chest. Her eyes followed the movement of her hands, growing heated with each pass. She carefully cleaned around his wound, her touch tender. His gaze alternated between the sight of her hand running over his skin and the mesmerised look on her face.

His blood heated languorously as he enjoyed the process. His breathing got increasingly shallow. Hook saw that Emma paid no special attention to his stump, seemingly oblivious to it.

It was hypnotic, the rhythmic swish of her hand, the splash of the sponge in the bucket, the shallowness of her breath. In the intimacy of the small cabin, with the lanterns casting a warm, soft glow across the two of them, and his obvious state of undress, Hook had never felt so connected to another human being. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had tended him, cared for him.

His normal defences were down, crumbled by his tiredness and her nearness, and the affection that had been brewing since he met her swelled to a fever pitch. He allowed himself a brief moment to bask in the feeling. It had been a long time.

“Why did you do it?” her voice broke him out of his musings.

“Do what?” he asked, confused as to her line of thought.

“You stepped in front of that blade for me.” Her breath hitched on the final words. “Why would you do that?”

Hook stared at the vulnerability in her face, unable to answer. “I think you know why,” he murmured eventually. She sucked in a breath and her eyes squeezed shut, as if she could block out the words.

“No,” she whispered, then stronger. “No, you can’t. _We_ can’t.”

“I know. Of course I know that. But I don’t regret it. I was, and am, going to die anyway. Even if I wasn’t, my life is worthless compared to yours. A princess, with her future ahead of her and the will and courage to make a difference, versus a pirate that’s done nothing but make people’s lives a misery. There is no question whose life is more valuable. My father was right. I’m no better than him.”

Emma reached over him so that she could grasp his hand. “That’s not true. And even if it was, that doesn’t have to be the sum total of your life. People can change, evolve.” There was pleading in her voice and eyes and he felt his heart crack.

“Change takes time. Time is not a commodity that I have much of these days.”

He saw tears well in her eyes. She hesitated for a moment, and her words, when they came, were little above a breath. “You could, if I let you go.”

For a long moment, Hook allowed hope to blossom in his chest. She was going to let him go, free him. He could return to his old ways, pillaging and plundering…No, that held no appeal now. Perhaps he could find a house somewhere in a distant village, leave his past behind and start again. Emma could even visit and…

_Emma_. What would it do to her, her position in the kingdom, if she let him go? One day she would be ruler of this land. She would never be loved and respected if it was known she had let a notorious pirate loose. And there is no way people wouldn’t find out.

The ache of despair settled over him again. “No, love, you won’t do that.”

“But it’s the only way. If I take you back to my parents, you’ll…,” she couldn’t even say the word.

“Yes, I will. But you will have everything you wanted. The respect of your people, of your _parents_. That’s why you came on this mission. If you let me go, you will lose all that. Likely forever.”

A lone tear rolled down her cheek as she clutched his hand tighter, followed by another. “But I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice trembled. The cracks in his heart splintered and shattered. Years of pain and loneliness left him, her words a balm to his damaged soul.

“It has been a long time since I have heard that sentiment from anyone, and it warms this old pirate’s heart. But you and I both know it is the only way.”

“No, there has to be a solution. We could run together.” She was clutching at straws and they both knew it. “I don’t care about the kingdom.” The lie wasn’t the least convincing.

“You know that it couldn’t work. Even if I wasn’t destined for the gallows, it would never be allowed. And if we ran, your parents would never stop looking until they found you.”

She hesitated, face a picture of misery, but eventually she nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. He hated himself, knowing he was the cause of her misery, but unwilling to offer worthless hope.

Emma pressed the sponge into his hand and stood up. “You’ll have to finish the rest yourself.”

She was almost at the door when he spoke. “I’m not worth this unhappiness, love.”

She paused, her hand on the knob. Her expression was shadowed, but he knew that she was looking his way. “Yes, you are.” Her voice was so low he barely caught the words.

And then she was gone and his bravado crumbled. He allowed the black despair of hopelessness to take him.


	8. Chapter 8

Emma was on the prow of the ship, letting the cool, salty breeze wash away the mental cobwebs from the last few days. She had spent much of her time in the bunk that had formerly been Captain Phelps's (and before that, no doubt Hook’s), which she had commandeered after the memorial service they had held for the sailors lost during the storm, since a certain someone was currently recovering in her bed. While she wouldn't admit it to anyone, Emma had been avoiding Hook as he took slow walks around the ship, trying to regain his strength.

It's not that she didn't want to see him; she did. _Desperately_.

But she also had to protect herself. Her heart. Everything he had said the last time she had seen him was true. There could be no future for the two of them, even if he hadn't been slated for the hangman's noose in less than a week.

She breathed in, allowing the sharp hit of air to stop her errant thoughts. It was then that the cry went up among the sailors.

"Land a'hoy!"

_Home_.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had left the shores of the Enchanted Forest, embarking on that diplomatic mission. And in a way it was. Her world was forever altered, and she was not the same girl that had left her parents determined to prove herself. She was better, stronger, more confident.

_And she was in love._

She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought, denying their power. But there was no getting away from the truth.

She sighed and turned away from the sight of land. It would take them a while to reach it, and she needed to be ready.

Back in her cabin, Emma called Amalia to come and help her into one of the few dresses she had brought with her on this journey. She needed her princess armour if she was going to get through this day. She needed to be someone else.

When she felt ready, Emma moved towards the door, but the sound of shuffling footsteps moving past stopped her. Only one man on the ship was moving like he was recovering from injury. She waited a whole minute after the sound had faded before moving out.

As she made her way to the deck, there was a clatter of noise that was completely unexpected. She increased her pace, striding up the stairs as fast as she could in her cumbersome dress.

And what she saw when she crested the staircase and stumbled onto the deck stopped her cold.

It was a bizarre tableau. A large ship had pulled up beside the Jolly Roger. Men had boarded the ship, and seemed to have taken the entire crew hostage. How long had Emma been below deck that a ship had managed to sail into view and capture them without a cry being raised?

She looked around frantically until she saw him. Hook was on his knees, held at sword-point. Emma could only see his profile, but he was clutching his stomach as if in pain. She knew instantly that the boarding party had not been gentle with him.

She also observed that he was back in his pirate garb. It seemed that she was not the only one that felt they needed armour today.

No one had noticed her yet.

“I doubt a soul would miss you if I gutted you right here. Finished the job of whoever did _that_ to you,” said the evident leader of the band, poking Hook roughly in the stomach with the flat of his sword. Emma winced as Hook sucked in a pained breath, but he didn’t cry out.

“Go ahead,” he spat viciously instead.

The leader gave a chilling smile and raised his sword slightly for the blow. Hook reacted immediately, diving forward and knocking the man off balance. But he had underestimated how much his wound slowed him down, and he was unable to finish his opponent off. The leader gained the upper hand, throwing Hook off and scrambling to pin him to the deck. The man still had his sword in his hand, and he held it against Hook’s throat.

“STOP!” Emma roared, utterly furious. She felt a strange kind of fizz race through her veins, pooling in her hands. She held them out in front of her, to ward off the sensation or build it, she didn’t know.

Her hands were glowing.

The object of her ire was frozen, still crouched over Hook with the sword against his neck, but he the man was now staring at her with something akin to horror.

A pressure began to build within her, and Emma felt an unfamiliar trickle of panic down her spine. She had no idea what was happening to her and, worse, she had no idea how to stop it. All she knew was that it was most likely extremely dangerous.

Her eyes darted around seeking answers, or solace. Anything to hold onto. But every face was staring at her with varying levels of fear. Her panic grew worse, and simultaneously the strength of the glow rose.

In desperation, she sought out Hook’s gaze. Their eyes locked. His expression was not one of fear, or horror.

It was wonderment.

Immediately, Emma began to feel calmer. She took a deep breath, and then another, never taking her eyes off Hook. The glow subsided. He smiled, still looking at her with a tender kind of awe.

Emma glanced around at the shocked faces around her. They were all eyeing her warily. Emma didn’t blame them, but it didn't stop the pang of hurt she felt. Even her own crew members were regarding her suspiciously.

She squared her shoulders and glared at them all, determined to pretend her fear of moments ago had never been exposed. Determined not to care what they thought.

“Now, what the hell are you doing on my ship?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so sorry that it has once again been a long time since I've updated this story. On the bright side, I estimate there is only 2 or 3 chapters (and an epilogue) more to go! Thanks for sticking with this story, I really appreciate it.

The men stared at her for a long moment. Emma waited, stony faced but seething with anxiety. Then, the leader’s face change abruptly to recognition and he unexpectedly bowed.

“My Princess,” he murmured. The other sailors began to mutter amongst themselves as they followed suit, bowing or kneeling in front of her.

Emma’s eyes bounced around, trying to decipher what was going on. There were no clues that she could see. They were all dressed like regular sailors, though they looked slightly cleaner than usual.

Unwilling to admit her ignorance, she took refuge in imperiousness. “You could all be hanged for boarding my vessel and attacking those under my protection. Explain yourselves.”

The leader shuffled nervously, distancing himself from Hook. "It's the Jolly, Your Grace. It's the most notorious ship on the seas."

Emma realised that she was indeed sailing Captain Hook's ship. "But what business is that of yours?" She asked, genuinely confused.

"The king and queen sent us. You were late returning, and they have commandeered many common vessels to help in the search for you."

Emma felt herself relax against her better judgement. She knew that he could be lying, but it was an explanation that at least made sense.

She thought about it for a moment, finally deciding to trust the man at least partially. "In that case, please return to your own ship to escort us to port. I can't have any other vessel making the same mistake as you." She raised an eyebrow in censure, and the ship's leader looked ashamed.

"Yes, Your Grace."

They filed off her ship and back to their own, with nervous looks still being thrown in her direction. Whether from her status or whatever had happened earlier with her hands, Emma didn't know.

Emma glanced at Hook. He had gained his feet and was looking at her broodingly. She wanted to say something, anything, but knew it was for the best that she didn't. He'd know why.

"You should rest that wound," she told him instead.

He shrugged, but perched himself on a barrel lashed to the starboard side. "I'd almost rather die from the wound. At least that would mean going out on my terms." It was almost a joke, but held far too much bitterness to be amusing.

"Don't say that," she whispered, turning away from him as tears sprang to her eyes. For the first time it truly hit her that he was going to die, and by her hand. It was her fault.

She fled, hearing him call her name with a voice low with anguished as she ran to her room.

She allowed the misery to swallow her for a few long minutes. But, then, a determination sprang up from deep within her. She would find a way, even if she had to ask her parents for help.

`

They arrived at the bustling port that was shadowed by her family’s large castle on the hill.

Emma didn’t see Hook again, except from a distance as he was dragged away. She was sure that he had been looking at her across the crowd, but he was too far for her to make out his expression. Emma had given strict instructions that he be taken to one of the comfortable holding areas. She knew he would probably try to escape, and she almost hoped he did. It would save her a lot of heartache.

She waved distractedly to the curious local people that had gathered at the dock to see her. She was surprised there were any people there at all, since she had arrived with no warning. Emma was glad she wore the dress. The people would see what they expected and wouldn’t look too closely at her expression. She couldn’t put on the act today. Her aching heart wasn’t in it.

Emma allowed herself to be bundled into a carriage by waiting footmen. The people were dispersing even as the carriage jolted into movement. The town rolled by, and the carriage attracted only brief glances. It was a common enough sight, as she and her parents often visited their people.

Soon enough she was being driven through the gates and up to the front door. She was handed out of the carriage by the footmen, and only made it a few steps before her mother was flying into her arms, her father not far behind. They held her close, her mother squeezing a little too hard and her father cradling her hair gently as he wrapped his arms around the two of them.

Emma felt tears spring to her eyes again. After such an emotional few days and weeks, she just wanted to let it all go. She wanted to be a child again and allow her parents to solve everything. Her first true foray into the adult world and she’d never felt more incompetent. She couldn’t even save the man that had won her heart.

“I missed you both so much,” she whispered. Snow’s grip tightened and her father dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“We were so worried. We are very glad you are back, Emma,” Snow told her, finally pulling away. She took one look at her daughter’s face and must have immediately sensed something was wrong. Her expression changed to one of sympathy. "Let's have some tea and you can tell us all about your adventures."

Emma nodded, suddenly hopeful that her parents _would_ be able to find a way to fix it all. They had compassionate hearts and a strong sense of moral right.

And everything about the situation with Hook felt _wrong._ Very wrong.

Her father wrapped her arm around his and escorted her to the castle. "Welcome home," he told her softly. They shared a smile.

"Thanks, Dad."

Emma felt almost cheerful for the first time in days.

`

Comfortably ensconced in her mother's sitting room, Emma unburdened herself to her parents. She started chronologically with the failed diplomatic mission, mostly because she wasn't sure she was quite ready to tell them about Hook yet.

They listened well and said all the right things to make her feel better, but Emma couldn't pretend that that was the reason she had been so miserable.

So she told them about the Jolly Roger attacking them, and she told them about Blackbeard and the storm. She told them how Hook had nearly died saving her. And she told them that because of that heroic act, she didn't want him to die.

Her parents were silent as she recounted her tale. Emma was too involved in telling her story as emotionlessly as possible to pay much attention to her parents exchanging significant glances.

By the time she was done, they both had rather speculative expressions on their faces.

"Emma, tell me." Snow paused delicately. "Do you...have _feelings_ for this pirate?"

Emma hesitated, then nodded miserably.

"Emma, what were you thinking?!" Her father exploded.

"Well, it hardly would have been my choice," she yelled back, immediately furious.

"Charming!" Snow scolded.

"He's a pirate."

"Mum was a bandit when you fell in love with her. How is that any different?"

Her father blinked in surprise. "It's different and you know it," her father said eventually, but the edge had softened in his voice.

"He saved me," Emma said earnestly. "He's a good man. Surely that counts for something?" She sounded desperate even to her own ears.

Snow took Emma’s hand in a comforting gesture. “Sweetheart, you know our laws. You know the punishment for his crimes,” reminded her gently.

“There has to be a way,” Emma said pleadingly.

“The only option is to pardon him,” her father replied. “We could do that, but it would not be a popular decision for a whole host of reasons. It would undermine our position with the people of this land; and, by extension, yours when you take over the throne. It would be a big risk to assume that the people will forget by then. Pirates would grow in number, and our threats against them would seem meaningless.”

Her mother and father exchanged another long glance. silently communicating. Eventually, Snow turned back to her daughter and spoke. “He’ll go to trial, as is right. You can speak for him if you wish. But we want you to know the risks you take when you publically side with him. We’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

When Emma had begged her parents for more responsibility, this was certainly not what she had wanted. She didn’t want the life of a man she cared for to be in her hands. She didn’t want to have to choose between her kingdom and the man she loved.

All the hope that had been flowing through her since she arrived home felt like a lead weight in her veins.

“I need some time to think,” she said absently, standing to leave. Her parents nodded sympathetically, but Emma paid them no attention.

She had something, or someone, else on her mind.


End file.
